


Losing Everything

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Barry Allen/Oliver Queen, Medical Procedures, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, don't want to spoil things too soon, quite later, sorry - Freeform, that'll also be later, that'll be later, this one's going to get a bit dark, though I'm not an expert at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eobard Thawne interfered with the timeline, he didn't anticipate the discovery of Barry Allen's scientifically unique properties to be discovered by someone else.</p><p>The Flash takes a much different, darker journey to becoming a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the deal, guys. It's taking me longer to update my other fics than I wanted, as we're very short-staffed at my workplace at the moment. I'm trying to get on a minimum once-a-week basis. To help me with that, on weeks that I can't get a chapter of "Partners" or something else out, I'm going to upload a new chapter of this, as I have about eight pre-written and only needing some edits. So I hope people will find this idea engaging as well!

Central City General Hospital was by no means the Ground Zero of tonight’s chaos—that of course was S.T.A.R. labs—but it was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the aftermath. People who had been in range of the explosion kept pouring in, just as the rain kept pouring and lashing the building that was lit bright against the dark storm like a beacon. A beacon that, for the fifth time, flickered and went out after the shout of “Clear!”

“Damnit!” Dr. Jacob Danvers cursed as the paddles were lifted from Barry Allen’s chest in the dim lighting and the backup generator kicked in again. Out in the hall he thought he heard the pretty young woman who’d had to be forced from the operating room give another despairing wail. “We’re losing him!”

His expectant look at Redding was met with a shake of the woman’s head. Her eyes stood out between cap and mask with long, thick lashes and smoky shadowing—she’d been on a date before this nightmare had begun—but they shone with sympathy and helplessness. “We can’t defibrillate again so soon, Danvers.”

“We can’t just give up!” He’d already seen so many people come through tonight dead or dying or irrevocably damaged. And now this young man—practically a boy, he thought, with a look at the thin, youthful face half-covered by the oxygen mask—had been brought in _struck by lightning_ but alive and he wasn’t about to give up on someone with that much fight in them.

“And defibrillation won’t restart a heart that’s already stopped!” She snapped, patience wearing as thin as his knowing that time was running out. A decision had to be made. No one else in the room spoke; it was his call.

“We’ll just have to do it manually. Open Chest Cardiac Massage. Redding, Ramos, you’re on rotation. McCarthy, get me the proper instruments.” They already had scalpels and a rib spreader on hand, and he picked up one of the former.

“Yes, doctor!” The nurse half-backed out of the room, but the young woman from before was right outside.

“What’s going on? Is Barry—” She couldn’t seem to finish the demand, but McCarthy still answered.

“His heart’s stopped, Miss West, and we need to move fast. Please, stay out of the way.”

“Stopped!” She didn’t seem to have heard the last part, for she stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes most definitely glued to the scalpel in his hand and the tube being prepared to be inserted to keep the lungs working. “Oh my god. Oh my god, _Barry_!”

“Get her out here!”

“Iris!” A gruff voice sounded out in the hall, and as the woman turned and allowed McCarthy to pass at last, Danvers caught a glimpse of a rain-soaked Detective West looking solemn and scared.

“Dad!”

He put the two out of his mind, focusing once more on the patient, on saving Barry Allen’s life. Redding and Ramos provided support on either side as he worked to open up the chest cavity; they would take turns as needed giving the two-handed compressions for however long until it worked. It was going to work.

But when Barry Allen’s heart lay exposed to the operating room, Jacob Danvers could only gape in astonishment. “Good Lord.”

“What—” Redding gasped.

“It’s—it’s still beating,” Ramos breathed.

Beating was perhaps an understatement. The muscle was pounding away at a rate that was alarming. Faster perhaps than any other heart in recorded history. Too fast to record!

“Disconnect the heart monitor,” he ordered, causing the technician and his colleagues to look up in shock. “Don’t you get it? It’s not the storm—he’s just been blowing the fuses!”

“But surely we need to keep monitoring—a heart can’t sustain this kind of pace, it _will_ eventually give out!” Ramos objected.

“We’ve been working on him for hours, if it was going to give out for good it already would have. For whatever reason, this seems to be its baseline. I think continuing as we have would only be further interference.”

“You mean all those times we finally got it to register on the monitor and we counted his convulsions as signs of life…” Redding’s eyes were wide as she seemed to understand where he was going.

Danvers nodded. “I think we were killing him.” There was a pause as everyone in the room took it in.

Ramos backed away a couple steps. “I can’t believe—this shouldn’t be possible!”

“What’s that Holmes quote everyone and their mother’s taken to saying these days? Something about eliminating the impossible?” He inquired rhetorically, and then gestured down at the patient. “Well, we’ve eliminated the idea that his heart’s stopped. Now we have to let it keep beating. I’m closing him up.”

“You’re the one who wanted to open him up in the first place,” Redding pointed out wryly.

“And look what we found out because I did.”

“Jacob, please, think about it,” Ramos implored softly. “If we stop now just because of this- this fluke, and he goes into arrest again—”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” he answered solemnly. “We can’t keep going like this, Ed. And there’s a whole waiting room full of patients left to see to.”

His colleague sighed in defeat and came forward again. Together, the three of them worked to close up the young man on the table who had thus far confounded their every effort. All that was left to show for it in the end was a scar on his chest where the incision had been sewn back up.

Ramos wanted at least to keep him on oxygen, which Danvers agreed to. He then turned to the nurse who was setting aside all the instruments they’d used to be cleaned. “McCarthy, I’m placing you in charge of Mr. Allen here. Round the clock observation. If anything about his condition changes, I want to know immediately.”

“Yes, doctor. But- Dr. Danvers?” He turned back to face her. Behind the mask she seemed hesitant, or perhaps puzzled, yet nevertheless said, “I think something has already changed, while you’ve been working on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He had all these cuts and scrapes—just surface stuff, from the glass—I remember because I treated them with antiseptic first.”

Danvers didn’t see how this little detail had come under his request, but still prompted, “Well?”

“They’re gone.”

He stared in renewed wonder at the young man who was indeed miraculously unmarked from having a window shattered over his head and who knew how many volts of electricity shot straight into his chest. The orderly Redding had gotten ahold of began pushing the gurney out of the room, and in the hall he saw the Wests dart forward and begin running alongside, no doubt pestering the poor man with questions he didn’t have the information to answer. Danvers wasn’t sure any of them did.

“I want a full report the minute we’re through with all this,” he reiterated to McCarthy. She nodded, and departed after the strangest patient he’d ever seen.

Danvers’ pager beeped. He sighed, exchanged his old gloves for a fresh pair and called out, “Let’s keep it moving, people!”

OoO

Jacob Danvers stood at the foot of Barry Allen’s bed in the ICU in the early hours of the morning, still in his scrubs and holding the strongest cup of coffee the hospital cafeteria had to offer. It was a lucky thing the chart he was studying was so interesting or he would have fallen asleep standing up.

The young man had been taken off the oxygen, as it had been determined he could breathe on his own. Non-responsive, even after the anesthetic they’d put him on should have worn off. Heart rate, unknown.

“Hey,” Jillian Redding’s voice sounded loud in the mostly silent room, and he looked once at her and then gestured pointedly at their currently sleeping company.

The young woman, Iris he recalled, had her head resting on her father’s shoulder. There were tear tracks still drying on her pretty face. The detective snored very lightly, but sleep did not erase the worry from his expression.

“Sorry,” his colleague muttered, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. She took a sip from her own coffee and walked over fully to join him. “What do you know? He’s still alive. Looks like you were right.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods,” he countered. “All indicators we can pick up on point to him having slipped into a comatose state. Who’s to say he’ll wake up from it? Maybe Ed was right, we should have done more.”

“We were all lost,” she countered with a shake of her head. “I mean, none of us have ever seen anything like this before. Is his heart still…?” She trailed off. He could understand her question; without the steady beep of the heart monitor that was almost a staple for any patient in this wing, the pale form of Barry Allen looked as motionless and dead as they’d thought him on the operating table.

“Pulse is detectable,” he told her, “though it can be hard to catch if you don’t know to look for it jumping under your thumb.”

She reached instead to his neck, paused and then frowned before placing it instead on the young man’s chest. “It’s the easiest here. And still way too fast to be normal.” She glanced at the sleeping pair in the visitor’s chairs. “What have we told them?”

“Not much. We don’t understand enough to tell them much of anything,” he pointed out.

She was frowning again, hand still in place. “Yeah there’s definitely something I don’t understand.” He looked at her curiously, even more so as she peeled back the covers. “Where’s the surgical scar?”

Danvers almost dropped his coffee at the sight. A whole, relatively unmarked chest with only the stiches remaining to tell that any incision had ever been made, much less only hours before. It should have been impossible, but instead it just _was_.

Redding backed away to stand beside him again. “What does it mean?”

“It means…we’ve found a miracle.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, glad to see people are already excited for this one. Still continuing with some setup in this chapter, but there's a lot of fun POVs so I hope you enjoy!

Oliver Queen, co-CEO of Queen Consolidated, was honestly just trying to get some work done this morning. It was proving difficult, however, when across the room from him his secretary was frantically tapping away at her computer, eyes flitting over the screen anxiously in search of something decidedly not business related. In fact, he was fairly certain the blonde was hacking into Central City General Hospital’s database.

He’d heard, naturally, about the disaster of the particle accelerator. How could he not, what with it plastered over the front of the morning paper, pouring from his car’s radio speakers, and posted at the top of every news site. Not to mention the way it was etched in the worry lines of Felicity Smoak’s face. And he knew just why she was so worried.

He’d asked if she’d tried calling. Of course she had, Oliver, the minute she’d heard but there’d been no reply. So he waited in silence to avoid further provoking Felicity’s ire, but with each passing minute what little optimism he had that Barry Allen had simply missed the call was rapidly dwindling. In its place was a grim dread.

It’s easy enough to recall the scientist’s face after not even a day has passed. Barry Allen, a young man with enough gall to talk his way right into an investigation he had no official reason to be a part of, yet at the same time the humility to own up to it completely when confronted and return home if Oliver hadn’t called him back. Who hid a darkened past under a smile so effectively he’d been unsure at first if that, too, was part of the ruse. Yet that limitless, earnest passion he’d had—for the case of Cyrus Gold, for the Vigilante, and for the doomed particle accelerator—couldn’t have been faked. Nor how desperately, once he’d learned of Oliver’s identity, the other man had strived for his approval, his acceptance, his trust.

A sharp inhale from Felicity told him Barry had been found. Oliver stood up and started to cross the room. “Good news?”

“Yes and no,” the IT expert told him. “He wasn’t hurt in the explosion, but the storm—he was struck by _lightning_.” She looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “He’s in the ICU now and they’re just waiting for him to wake up.”

Lightning, of all the things. When Barry had been his own storm, a whirlwind that had swept through Oliver’s city, his life, and changed things. Without his help, they might never have uncovered the man in the skull mask’s plot to create an army powered with a serum that haunts his nightmares, and never in time to save Roy. Hell, Oliver himself would have died without Barry’s intervention, however mad at the time he was at his teammates for enlisting the man without his consent. And then, just as suddenly, he’d been gone when Oliver got back. He remembered the foundry feeling uncommonly quiet and empty despite Felicity and Diggle’s continued presence, the slight disappointment when he’d been told the scientist had left for home. _Oh_ , had been all he could manage.

In the present, he tried his best to be reassuring. “Well, if they’re just waiting, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. He’ll be fine, Felicity.”

She nodded, yet still looked miserable. “I just can’t help thinking I was talking to him right before. I mean _right_ before, I looked up the time the accelerator exploded and the storm got bad and I must have been. But everything was so…normal. He told me he didn’t make it in to see accelerator—he was late,” she said with a short laugh, and it pulled the slightest smile from him at the memory of the forensics assistant going on about two trains and a taxi cab driver. “We just talked…and he told me about the gift he left you. He was really hoping you’d like it.”

The smile faltered. He’d challenged the younger man to find him a mask since he’d thought it such an improvement and Barry hadn’t disappointed, making one himself in less than a day’s time. He was…touched, by the gesture. Particularly after he’d been nothing but short, even cold to the other. Oliver tried to think what the last thing he’d said to Barry was, whether it was in any way the least bit kind. But he couldn’t recall it.

“I’ll have to send him a thank-you card when he wakes up,” he resolved, half in jest for Felicity’s benefit. Though the woman smiled up at him in response, it was clear she was still rather shaken by the discouraging news about their new friend. “How about we call it a day?”

Felicity’s smile turned grateful before she moved to log out of her computer. “I very much like that idea.”

They had nothing to mourn; there was just something wrong about the idea of Barry Allen not awake and investigating somewhere, changing people’s lives. But as the Arrow donned the mask that night, Oliver had the thought that maybe in some measure he still was.

OoO

Danvers felt somewhat badly for rapping on Warren’s door. It was clear the administrator was approaching overwhelmed by the hospital’s current situation, and likely the only reason he’d caught him in was that he appeared to be fielding three separate phone calls at once.

“No, she is in surgery now. We need everyone we’ve got to handle this crisis, so I’m going to have to ask that you make an appointment and we go from there. I’m transferring you to the secretaries.” A button was pressed to switch lines. “Hello? Yes, I wanted to speak to FEMA. Look I know you’re all busy up in Starling still, but right now I could use some supplies, somebody’s set a bomb off in our backyard. Could you fax me the files and apps? Thank you.” Another switch. “Hey, anything from the authorities about what we’re dealing with? I got people crowding the lobbies panicked about radiation and whatnot. What do you mean their forensic assistant’s out?”

“Warren?” Danvers attempted. He was rewarded with a sharp look in his direction, but Warren did not further acknowledge him.

“Well tell me when they actually _do_ get around to figuring this mess out! Thank you.” At last, he slammed the phone down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “God help us.”

“Warren?”

“What, Danvers?” It sounded more exhausted than anything else, a feeling he fully empathized with at the moment. A hand was waved at the empty chair on the other side of the desk and he seized the opportunity just as much to rest his legs.

“Actually, it’s about the CCPD forensic assistant. He’s a patient of mine, came in last night.”

The other man snorted. “Just my luck, the thing we need him to figure out got him, too.”

Danvers shook his head. “Not quite. During the freak weather following the explosion, Barry Allen was struck by lightning in his lab. He was knocked into some shelving and came into contact with a number of chemicals. Needless to say his resulting condition is…decidedly unusual. I thought you might want to have a look.” He passed over a folder they’d hastily compiled with notes, the patient’s chart, and signed statements from himself, Redding, Ramos, and McCarthy.

Warren’s eyes widened and narrowed alternately as he read through each page. Finally he looked up. “I can’t imagine all of you would be trying to pull something at a time like this, much less any other time.”

“No, sir,” he shook his head.

“Then I’d like to have a look at this Mr. Allen myself.” He rose from his chair, and Danvers followed suit.

“I thought you might say so. If you’d like, you can watch my team remove the stitches in his chest.”

“Already?”

The operating room was far calmer this late morning, though far more crowded. It looked as though half the interns had wheedled their way in to see, though they were likely to be disappointed; the real excitement had happened last night.

At least he’d thought so, until Redding looked up at his approach. “We’ve hit a snag.”

“What?” Had they been wrong, had the stiches not been ready to be removed? “Is he not fully healed?”

“The opposite,” Ramos spoke up, an air of incredulity to his voice. “He’s almost healed too fast, and it’s making it hard to remove the stitches from the new skin.”

“And that shouldn’t be possible,” Warren, who’d placed gloves and mask on as well though he stood to the side, correctly guessed.

“No.” Danvers took a moment to think. “We’ll have to cut them out. If his skin cells are really growing that fast it shouldn’t be detrimental. But first, administrator, would you care to take a listen?” He turned and offered a stethoscope out to the other man, who came forward.

Warren placed it over Barry Allen’s heart. “Unbelievable.” In the background, the interns chattered in hushed, animated voices.

Once the hospital administrator had stepped back, Danvers turned to his team. “Let’s get to work.” Soon enough the operation was complete, and it appeared as though the patient’s rapid healing was not a fluke; the skin was already fusing back together practically unaided. As he was being wheeled back to his room in the ICU, Danvers turned to the assembled staff, particularly the interns. “Nothing of what you’ve just seen should leave this room for the time being. We’re still trying to understand it, and starting rumors isn’t what we need. If you want to complete the program here, you’ll stay quiet. Understood?” He was satisfied with the nervous nods that was met with, and waved them on their way.

“Danvers,” Warren now beckoned him over. “How big is what I’ve just seen?”

“Honestly? I’ve no idea. I’d have to run tests, blood analysis, tissue samples, his health records, family history—but I think it could change the world.”

Warren took that in for a moment. “What do you need?”

“I’ll need to speak to his family or guardian. Allen’s an adult, but still unresponsive so we’ll need their permission.” He had a feeling this meant the Wests, considering where the other living Allen currently resided. “Beyond that, resources. I need someone to tell us about those chemicals in the lab, what they could potentially do to somebody struck by lightning. I need heart specialists to tell me how someone could possibly sustain a heart rate that fast. I need specialists in cellular generation and growth to help explain what we just saw in there. You see where I’m going with this?”

The other man nodded. “I’ll see what contact I can make with other research hospitals and the NIH.”

“Thanks, Warren.”

“Get some rest before you speak with the family.”

“Right.” They parted ways, Warren back to his office and Danvers to a quiet corner of the hospital where he might take the suggested nap.

OoO

They’d let her back in to the room after returning Barry, and Iris was both relieved and disappointed to find him pretty much unchanged. It looked like he was sleeping, and she wished someone would just tell her when they expected him to wake up.

This was still better than last night, Iris acknowledged, when she’d watched her best friend die and come back several times over. Or _thought_ she had. One of the nurses had told her and her father that Barry was simply exhibiting unusual symptoms that had made the heart monitor read faulty, but that his condition was actually stable. She guessed someone hit by lightning would have unusual symptoms, but she still couldn’t get over that image of the line on the machine going flat and the doctors working frantically over the still, lifeless form. She didn’t know what she’d do if Barry died.

Iris dimly noted that her depressed musings had caused her eyes to start watering for what seemed the umpteenth time. “Why can’t I just _stop_?” She asked aloud to no one in particular, until her gaze fell on the patient resting in the bed before her. “Actually you need to stop. You’re making me weepy, Barry, and it needs to stop.”

Normally he’d scoff and provide some defense or apology to her accusation and they’d just continue on like always, but nothing happened.

Iris slowly rose from the visitor’s chair and stepped over to the bed. “Just wake up, ok? That’s all I want.” It was too quiet and still in the room. Joe West had returned briefly to the precinct; she knew it was tough, losing his partner, and he was needed badly due to the crisis.

“It’s amazing the precinct’s still standing,” she remarked offhand. “You’re going to freak when you see your lab, Barry.” She cracked a smile at the thought of the geeky scientist viewing the wrecked loft. He’d probably be more worried about that than his own health, if he were awake. “They’ll have it fixed up in no time, though. You’ll see. It might even be ready before you wake up and we’ll never have to tell you, if you’re really—”

 _In a coma_. She didn’t want to say the words out loud. Comas were those things that befell people in movies and TV, letting them wake up at just the right moment for the happy ending. But in real life?

What was the matter with her? It wasn’t like her to dwell on the negative. Barry would be fine, the doctors had said he was stable. Even if she’d watched him die. Even if he had been struck by lightning and had yet to wake up. Even if his body was exhibiting ‘unusual tendencies’ which necessitated his stay in the ICU.

Iris sat on the edge of the bed and reached a hand out to feel the steady proof of her best friend’s continued existence. Steady, but going at a pace Iris didn’t need a degree in medicine to know was way too fast.

“Why’s it so fast?” She’d asked the nurse, who had shrugged and said they were still trying to figure it out.

Hearts beat quickly for a reason though, didn’t they?

“Were you scared, Barry?” She murmured wonderingly. “When the particle accelerator blew and the lights went out and the storm got worse. Did you see that lightning coming? Maybe you did. Maybe you’re stuck there and you’re scared.” There she went again. Iris shook her head. This was bad enough without her own pessimism weighing her down.

So she drew in a breath, free hand picking at a loose thread in the blanket. “Or maybe you’re just dreaming. They say coma patients can hear when you speak to them, so I’ll bet we pulled you right through and you’re just dreaming away while I talk at you.”

When the silence only continued and he lay motionless, Iris lost the teasing smile and her momentary humor. “Wherever you are, just don’t forget to come back, alright? I miss you—but whenever you’re ready.” She reached for his hand, only to feel and _see_ a zap of energy shoot from his skin to hers. “What—?”

“Miss West?”

Iris almost jumped to her feet, snatching her hand away from him. Great, like she hadn’t already made enough of a fool of herself acting a mess last night. “Dr. Danvers! Is there something, I mean,” stumbling over her words as badly as her best friend did most days, she stepped away from the bed, knowing in all likelihood the man was here about his patient.

But Dr. Danvers kept his focus on her as he stepped into the room. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you and your father. Is he around?”

“Not right now, he went back to the precinct,” she informed him and saw his frown. “Is there something wrong with Barry?”

 _Aside from the obvious?_ a snide little voice in her head added.

Dr. Danvers was quick to assure, “He’s still stable. Of course regaining consciousness would be ideal, but…we’ve talked about the strange circumstances surrounding Mr. Allen’s injury, and the resulting condition, shall we say.” Iris nodded and he continued, “My team and I would like to run some tests to try and find out more about what’s going on inside Mr. Allen, and what we need to do to better treat him. We’d also like to call in some specialists to get their opinions.”

“Is it really that unusual?” She couldn’t help asking, half-turning back to Barry’s unresponsive form in surprise.

“Yes. Now, Mr. Allen is an adult, but as he is unavailable to give consent—”

“You want to get it from my dad,” she finished, finally understanding the purpose of this little chat. “We just want what’s best for Barry. If you think it’ll help, I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

Danvers nodded. “Thank you, Miss West. Let your father know he can come to me with any questions when he returns.” With that, the doctor did a quick perusal of the chart attached to the foot of the bed and then departed.

Having relatively few options, Iris returned to her chair, gladdened to know her friend would soon be receiving the kind of close care she felt he deserved, but bewildered by such avid interest. Just how many specialists did the hospital plan to call?

“Look at all the attention you’re getting, Barry,” she remarked. “Leave it to you to still be geek-worthy in your sleep.”

OoO

Joe wasn’t sure why he was at the precinct. The sympathy from everyone there was appreciated, but it hurt sitting across from Chyre’s desk, things still cluttering the surface like it had before they’d left to track down Mardon. And he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to make the climb up to Barry’s ruined loft. Struck down in the place he should have felt most safe, again. Perhaps with that in mind he’d made the decision to call Iron Heights.

“This is Detective West. I need you to relay a message to one of the inmates. Henry Allen. His son’s been hospitalized, there was a freak accident last night. So far he hasn’t woken up, and he might be comatose. That’s all the information I have. Thank you.”

As he hung up, the new transfer Eddie Thawne walked over to his desk. “Joe? What are you doing here?”

He leaned back, releasing a breath through his nose. “Oh, you know, getting a report done about last night. Better to have it out of the way. I’ll be at the hospital with Iris till tomorrow’s shift.”

But the younger detective shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take your shift.” Before Joe could even start to protest, Eddie added, “You should be allowed some time with your family after everything you’ve been through. Really, it’s no trouble.”

He held the other man’s calm gaze for a moment before giving a gruff, but sincere, “Thanks.” Maybe he’d been too quick to assume Thawne was just Detective Pretty Boy. With this and catching the man who’d stolen Iris’ purse only yesterday, he’d certainly earned his respect. So much had changed since yesterday, it was almost staggering to think about.

With a nod, he stood and grabbed his things, heading out to the parking lot. It was an undeniable relief knowing he wouldn’t have to worry about work tomorrow and could just focus on his kids. But Joe sat in his idling car for a while before leaving. Stating things so clinically over the phone had taken a lot more out of him than he’d thought it would. But even if he’d refused to see his former friend since closing one of the most troubling cases of his career, Henry Allen deserved to know, if only because he’d realize something was wrong when Barry failed to show up within the week.

 _If_ , he reminded himself fiercely. _If_. There was always the chance the young man would be up and about any day, since so much was unknown. He didn’t like that so much was unknown.

How could a heart rate physically impossible for a human to achieve be stable? Joe felt that there had to be more to this than he and Iris had been told. And that worried him most of all.

So Joe put the car in drive and headed back to the hospital to resume his post watching over his family.

OoO 

The doctors had declared him a paraplegic today. So far so good.

Harrison Wells—to all appearances—reclined back against the pillows and took in the sight of young Cisco Ramon, the engineer who’d raced him to the hospital when they’d found him collapsed in the hall. The young man had looked miserable ever since the pronouncement.

“Really Cisco, it’s hardly the worst that could have happened to me. I’m considering it a small mercy that the damage caused by the particle accelerator didn’t destroy the entire labs.”

“But Dr. Wells, your legs—”

“Were the price for such a failure. At least, I’m sure that’s how many will see it.” The engineer looked about to protest, but seemed to consider his second point. He looked down, discouraged. “How’s Caitlin?”

“I took her back to her apartment. She didn’t want to talk.” The young woman had been near hysterical over the loss of her fiancé and had been provided a bed and sedative at the hospital overnight. It would likely be the last they’d see of her tears for a long time.

“I see. Well, why don’t we find out what there can be done. A lot of people have been hurt or affected through no fault of their own because of my carelessness, Cisco. I’d like if you could keep an eye and ear out for anyone needing help while we’re here. It’s the least I can do to begin to make up for what I’ve done.”

“What _we’ve_ done.” Cisco had raised his head, new resolve and admiration in his eyes. “Dr. Wells, you—of course. I’ll do whatever I can.” He stood up, and it was easy to see how being given even this simple task reinvigorated him.

He keeps his smile to a small one of gratitude. “Thank you, Cisco. Start, if you can, with the ER. I don’t want us to be seen as overstepping our bounds, but that’s where we’ll find those who need S.T.A.R. labs’ help.”

And it was where the engineer would happen upon one Barry Allen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to squeeze Eobard in at the end, there. So far he thinks things are going to plan...that'll change. Thanks for reading and let me know your what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the awesome feedback so far, guys! I know it's been a lot of setup so far and this chapter's kind of short, but I've finished editing it and wanted to get it out to you guys since I'm not sure when next I'll be updating. I'm working on a few prompts for the upcoming Olivarry Week, so I'm still writing, it just won't be posted till the week of the 18th. But for now, please enjoy this!

It was growing easier to lose sight of the fact she worked in Central City’s General Hospital, Jillian Redding noted to herself. Rubbing shoulders with the likes of Harvard, Yale, and Johns Hopkins’ best and brightest, just to name a few, was exhilarating to say the least.

Danvers was in his element at the head of everything, receiving update after update about some new discovery almost every day, and she had to wonder when they’d stared at the patient’s impossibly beating heart if any of them had truly realized just _what_ they’d been given. What Barry Allen _was_.

“The rate of regeneration is off the charts,” a cellular research specialist had told them in a quiet corner of the building Warren had set aside for them to use. It wasn’t enough. “Not just the skin cells, but everything. His body heals itself at rates unimaginable. I think he could sustain a bone fracture and—if set properly—be completely healed in a matter of _hours_. You’d have to consult someone else in that field of course,” the woman had added, scribbling down a couple of referrals on a notepad. And so they had.

They’d called so many people in on this she couldn’t remember all the names and faces. They rushed back and forth from the little room to the labs to the operating room with samples, chemicals, instruments, and results. Though it had been agreed thus far to keep things as much under wraps as possible, it was clear to many of their colleagues something was happening. Most had expressed interest and some jealously. And why wouldn’t they be? A study like this was something a general surgeon like her could only dream of participating in, and the enthusiasm throughout the hospital was palpable.

“One, two, three,” two orderlies counted off together before transferring the patient from bed to gurney, and Redding pulled the door even wider open to ensure they could pass through. McCarthy was jogging alongside with the IV stand as they moved out in the hall, and she made to follow before a voice called out and stopped her.

“Dr. Redding!” Iris West looked as if she had come straight from work, judging by the coffee stains on her blouse. She’d heard the young woman mention her job at Jitters more than once in the past week and a half when coming and going from the hospital. Now she looked both hopeful and yet disappointed as they wheeled her friend away. “More tests?”

“Yes,” she answered plainly. “It shouldn’t be very long.”

“I can’t really stay, I’m on break,” the other woman gave heavy sigh before asking, “I guess I should just stop by tomorrow?”

Redding felt some of that enthusiasm fade as she took in the weary set of this woman’s shoulders and the way even her voice sounded weighed-down. Of all the discoveries they’d made, they’d yet to uncover the one that would have made the Wests perhaps the happiest family in the world: the secret to waking Barry Allen up.

“We’re doing everything we can.” She’d never considered herself the most talented at relations with the friends or family of patients, but even to her ears this sounded especially hollow.

The younger woman still managed a shaky smile for her. “Thanks. My dad’ll be by later probably. We really owe Eddie one.” Wiping at her eyes, she turned and went back the way she came. Redding drew in a breath and released it, taking a moment before going the way she’d meant to.

She found Danvers discussing something animatedly with one of the others—from the University of Pennsylvania, she thought—though he paused to beckon her over. “Good to see you, Redding, thought you might have gone home. Yates here was telling me he thinks through exposing samples of Mr. Allen’s tissue to pathogens, his body’s healing factor would allow us to observe how they would successfully be fought off. His immune system is like nothing ever seen!”

“Will it tell us anything about reviving the patient from his comatose state?”

Danvers blinked. “Well, no. No, not likely. You and I both know he’s in a deep coma, he won’t respond to any treatments.”

“Then maybe we should tell his visitors that instead of getting their hopes up,” she stated in a biting tone, ignoring the almost affronted surprise Yates’ expression took on and looking through a window into the lab where more blood was being drawn from the young man’s arm.

“Redding, what’s gotten into you?” She felt more than saw Danvers draw up beside her. “This has nothing to do with false hope—the things we’ve learned from these few tests might not bring Mr. Allen back from unconsciousness, but will help countless someday.”

“Well, maybe that’s it. I’m not a researcher, Danvers, I’m a surgeon. I get a patient and I fix them, I don’t study them to figure out how to fix other people. Just—you know what? I think I will go home.” Without another word she left the two men in the hallway and went to grab her things.

Before leaving the hospital, however, she strode into Warren’s office. “Administrator, I’d like to speak with you about Barry Allen.”

The older man raised an eyebrow. “You too?” He waved her into a seat, but she shook her head. This was going to be brief.

“Yes. I don’t think we can keep this study going. I mean, we’re a hospital!”

He didn’t seem too troubled and replied, “I know. Look, I’m sorry for the kid, I really am. Getting struck by lightning _indoors_ is a pretty raw deal. But I don’t know if a hospital exists that can treat him, and we can’t. From what I’ve been told, it was only Danvers cutting him open that kept us from declaring him dead!”

“So what are we going to do now?”

“I’m not sure yet. All I know is, I need my doctors and nurses doing their jobs, and Mr. Allen needs resources we don’t have. I’m looking into some other options for him, we’ll discuss it with the Wests, and then we’ll go from there. Alright?”

She sighed. “Alright.” It was the best she could ask for. Honestly, she’d torn into Danvers but at least he was trying something to help somebody. She’d gotten Barry Allen as a patient as well and been unable to fix him. Maybe it was someone else’s turn.

OoO

Cisco was quickly becoming disheartened. It was an emotion he was growing uncomfortably close with ever since two weeks ago when the particle accelerator had finally come online—and then almost immediately blown up. So not cool.

They’d all lost a lot that night. Their goals, careers, reputations, and for some even less fortunate than he, limbs or loved ones—and again he had to block out those last minutes with Ronnie, the other man’s determination to keep everyone safe, and the silent anguish that’d taken up residence inside Cisco’s heart for his part in ensuring they were. Still Cisco knew that no matter how badly he was feeling, people like Dr. Wells and Snow had to be feeling worse.

But Caitlin hadn’t had much to say to him since that night—he wondered how much worse it’d be if she _knew_ —and so he was back at Central City General fulfilling the task given to him by Dr. Wells. His boss had been discharged last week and returned to what was left of the lab in disgrace, but he’d asked Cisco to continue looking for others hurt in or by the blast who might need their help.

So far, he’d been pretty well rebuffed. It was pretty much impossible getting information from staff and people generally didn’t want to talk about their sick or injured loved ones to a stranger. And he had yet to find any sort of indication that the hospital didn’t have the crisis as well-handled as could be hoped for.

He was getting a snack from the vending machine when he caught the reflection of a pretty blonde walking past, heading for the ICU. He turned his head to get a proper look. Scratch that, gorgeous blonde. Clearly this warranted investigating.

Her heels click-clacked on the linoleum and her ponytail whipped from side to side as she appeared to be checking the signs on each door. Clearly a first-time visitor then, which probably meant this didn’t fall under the parameters Dr. Wells had outlined for him. Cisco kept following.

At last, she stopped by a door, nodded to herself, and stepped in. He’d had to pause by the water fountain in order to avoid notice, but now tiptoed closer and listened. He was not to be disappointed.

“Well, Barry Allen, you are a hard man to find. I came all the way from Starling City last week—and by the way those metro tickets aren’t cheap, as you probably know—and they tell me you’re not available. Which was odd because I’d heard you were comatose, so really where were you going to go?”

She was talking to a young man who did indeed appear to be unconscious. Her tone had been easy-going throughout all this and she even had a smile as he peeked from around the corner. But she suddenly stiffened and amended, “Not that I’m making a joke about your coma, or rather your being in one. A coma, I mean. Joking about that would be rude. It’s kind of hard to joke with you anyway, because you’re not really laughing…or saying much. But coma patients are supposed to be able to hear people, some of them anyway—and I’m doing this all wrong!”

She’d been pulling up one of the visitor’s chairs and about to drop into it, yet instead leapt up as though scalded. “I’m supposed to introduce myself, so you know who I am. I read that on the train ride here. So, I’m going to do that. Right now.” She started walking to the door, but pointed warningly over her shoulder at the sleeping man. “Forget everything before that. And this, forget this too.”

He backed a few paces away down the hall, but it turned out it didn’t make much difference. To his growing amusement she stopped in the doorway with her eyes shut, took what was probably a deep, cleansing breath and then whirled back around. _Click-clack-click_ , went her heels on the floor as she walked right back to where she’d been.

“Hi, Barry. It’s Felicity Smoak. We met in Starling a couple of weeks ago and you helped Oliver, John, and I on a case right before you came home to get struck by lightning. I know you didn’t do that on purpose, of course.”

But Cisco’s attention had successfully been diverted from the blonde at last. Struck by lightning, now _that_ was interesting. Unfortunately, that was the moment she chose to turn with little surprise in his direction and suggest, “Now’s probably a pretty good time for you to introduce yourself.”

He jumped. “How- how’d you know I was there?”

There was a little smile on her face as she replied, “Believe me, I’ve had a lot of practice.” She then nodded pointedly at the bed, so with little other choice Cisco shuffled fully into the room.

“Uh, Barry, dude, it’s Cisco Ramon. Sounds like you got it pretty rough.” He looked over at Felicity Smoak. “Ok, I don’t actually know him.”

“I didn’t think so.” Now she was the one who looked amused, but Cisco thought it best to try and explain himself in case that good mood didn’t last.

“I’m an engineer, with S.T.A.R. labs.” There was the tell-tale frown that people now got on their faces at that pronouncement. “I know, but look we had no idea that was going to happen. Now we’re trying to make up for it.”

“How?”

“Dr. Wells was hoping to lend a hand to any of the victims, but nobody really wants our help and the hospital says they have everything under control.” He shrugged. “Guess it was kind of a long shot. Hope your friend wakes up.” It was probably best to leave now before she decided he was intruding. He had an early morning tomorrow anyway, since he and Caitlin would be heading out to pack up the various warehouses S.T.A.R. labs owned. Cisco had no idea what Dr. Wells must have had to say to get her moving again, but he hoped returning to work might help the already reserved woman process her grief over Ronnie.

His new acquaintance offered a small smile. “Thanks. My friends and I hope so, too.”

Dr. Wells seemed discouraged when Cisco reported that there were no cases resulting from the particle accelerator explosion that could use their assistance, but he was honestly relieved. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have enough damage to lay claim to, after all.

OoO

“Detective, Miss West, please have a seat,” the hospital administrator, whose name was Jerome Warren according to the sign on his door, greeted them as she and her father walked into the office. “I understand you’ve had a stressful three weeks, what with Mr. Allen’s continuing condition. Well, I wanted to discuss with you some developments, and options, we now have going forward.”

“Have they figured out how to bring him out of the coma?” Her father beat her to the question forefront on her mind, and squeezed her hand just as tightly as she was squeezing back.

Warren looked apologetic. “No. To put it bluntly, Detective West, Mr. Allen’s condition is something my doctors and nurses here can’t understand. It’s nothing we’ve ever seen.”

Iris felt her eyebrows rise, not for the first time. Everyone kept saying that, that it was unusual or strange or not something they understood. Couldn’t they just say it was impossible? She wanted to laugh. Everything Barry had ever been searching for his whole life had instead found him. She wanted to cry, too.

“Now, some of the specialists we’ve called in,” Warren was saying, and she did her best to refocus, “have connections with the National Institute of Health, specifically the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute. They’d like to do an extensive study of Mr. Allen and I hope that might prove more successful than what’s been done so far. They have equipment and resources we don’t, and an application has been put in for a grant that I’m told has a great chance of being fully funded. It wouldn’t cost your family anything at all.”

Iris was floored, and one look at her dad’s dropped jaw showed she wasn’t alone in that feeling. He sat back in his chair and stared at their clasped hands for a moment, collecting himself. “The cost—that’s not my concern.”

“Of course,” Warren assured, “I’m just letting you know the benefits of this option. The most important thing is that Mr. Allen would be receiving the best care this country has to offer.”

“What about the results of all these tests?” Her father asked, and she heard that edge in his tone she always associated with interrogation, or being grounded. “I assume that’s what they’ll be getting out of this?”

“Anything discovered would be for the advancement of human health,” the other man replied diplomatically. “No harm would come to Mr. Allen nor would his care be compromised. But his unique condition is a tremendous breakthrough and opportunity, yes. If he wakes up—”

“When.” She hated how her voice trembled on the word, but she was not ashamed of the objection. Even when Warren looked at her with pity as her father gave a firm nod, shifted closer, and put an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Miss West. We do have to consider every possibility. We all want Mr. Allen to recover, but if he doesn’t—he still has a chance to leave a legacy that will impact and improve the care given to others. What is learned from him could save the lives of countless.”

Her father lifted a hand. “Could we—could we have a minute? I want to discuss this with my daughter before I make a decision.”

“Certainly. Please, use my office, I’ll come back when you’re ready,” the older man offered as he rose from his chair.

When the door shut behind him her dad released a heavy breath. “Well, this is a lot. A full grant’s got to mean they’re really serious about this. The best care in the country…”

“What about his ‘condition’ is so unusual? I wish they’d just try and explain it to us for once, even if we didn’t get it.”

There was a pause before they said together, “Barry would.” It produced weak chuckles from the father and daughter, and she leaned into his one-armed embrace.

“It might not be so bad, letting them do their study,” her father reasoned after some time, and she could tell he was weighing his words carefully. “Could be he’d want to do this if it helped others in need. Barry’s a good man.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“So?”

“So,” she acknowledged the decision that had yet to be made. “I want him to get better.”

She felt him nod. “Ok.” Iris had to sit back up as he released her and went to the door. “Mr. Warren? We’re ready, and we’ll accept the Institute’s help.”

The older man came in and went around to his desk. “Thank you Detective, Miss West. I know it may be hard, but we’re all trying to do what’s best for Mr. Allen.” He pushed a folder toward them which her father took. Looking over his shoulder, it appeared to be a consent form with conditions.

“Bethesda, Maryland?” Iris read aloud in shock, having zeroed in on a line about permission to move the patient.

“It’s where the NHLBI is based, Miss West. It’ll be far easier to move Mr. Allen there than to try and transfer equipment and the like here.”

“That’s halfway across the country.” Her father didn’t look particularly happy, but he seemed to be grudgingly accepting the logic Warren presented.

“You’d be more than welcome to visit, and I could look into some arrangements,” the man began.

“That won’t be necessary.” It was clear Joe West was uncomfortable accepting that type of financial assistance, and Iris understood. Still, thinking about the cost of travel and the time off work and school she’d have to take made the possibility of visits seem far away.

“If there are any other questions…?”

Her father shook his head and reached for a pen. As it hovered over the paper, however, he looked up again. “We can see him before he’s moved?”

“Of course, Detective. If you both will follow me?”

It was quiet on the walk over and Warren waited outside the room as they both walked up to Barry’s bed. As her father reached out and squeezed the young man’s shoulder, Iris squeezed her own eyes shut and wished, not for the first time, that her sheer willpower might force some type of change. But when she opened them again to find her dad gesturing her forward, her best friend was just the same.

 She touched his hand briefly again, admittedly relieved when nothing else happened like before. “Bye, Bear.”

With that she let go and took her father’s hand, and the Wests left Central City General. She’d made the comment offhand to one of the girls at Jitters that she was getting sick of the place, but now she’d be missing it, and Barry too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are starting to take more of a shape now. Barry's been moved rather far away from Eobard unawares...but also from the Wests. We'll see what all that does and how characters react coming up. There's maybe two more chapters at most, I think, that deal with the nine-month coma period, and then we'll finally get some perspective from Barry himself. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so now that Olivarry Week is over I'm getting back to this fic! This chapter mostly covers the rest of the nine-month span of Barry's coma, setting up the scene and some of the players. Enjoy!

“Good day, Dr. Wells.”

“No it is not, Gideon,” Harrison Wells’ imposter disputed with a sigh. “Bring up my log.”

“Of course. Go ahead, doctor.”

“New entry. It has now been 125 days since the subject was struck by lightning, and 125 days that the subject has been _missing_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “My hope that being in close proximity to the hospital the night of the incident would ensure contact has proved incorrect. As a result, the future is now in jeopardy.”

He paced a few steps away, relishing the ability to do so in this space for however short a time. His feigned paralysis now felt like a waste what with everything that had gone wrong. Giving up, however, would be equally wasteful.

“It is clear that someone, or some persons, have realized the anomalies in Barry Allen resulting from the changes induced by the lightning bolt and particle accelerator.” He’s already tasked Gideon with combing through the surveillance footage on the Wests for mentions of Barry or his location, but the young man’s foster family have opted frustratingly to cope through talking about him as little as possible. Nor had any calls or emails come in concerning Barry’s location.

“While this is problematic, I do not think it is impossible to recover from, so long as he is found and brought to S.T.A.R. labs _before_ he regains consciousness. That is crucial. No one else can be allowed to witness the discovery of his true abilities, the abilities that will allow him to become the Flash.”

The question, of course, was how to accomplish this with the lab’s now limited resources and two assistants who could not know why they were looking for a specific person. He had floated the ‘theory’ that the particle accelerator may have affected or altered individuals, thus explaining the rise in unsolved cases, but it appeared he needed to approach the subject of Barry Allen himself from a different angle.

“One way or another, he will resurface,” Eobard Thawne muttered, the accompanying text finishing off the day’s log. He settled back into the wheelchair and rolled out into the hallway.

Barry Allen would resurface, and hopefully sooner rather than later. They were running out of time.

OoO

Eddie Thawne felt a familiar pang of guilt as he returned Joe’s nod in farewell and left the precinct under the pretext of heading home for the night. Things between the two detectives were fine, except that there was something he had yet to share with the older man. If only Iris would agree to tell her father, he’d feel much better about the whole thing.

He’d been seeing Iris West on and off for the past few months. Maybe it was a bad idea, sure, dating his partner’s daughter but it had just happened. One of the best things to ever happen to him, most times.

There was of course the sneaking around. But then there were days like this one, when he pulled up in front of Jitters to pick his girlfriend up only to see her waiting and wiping at her eyes with a napkin. As soon as she caught sight of his car she stuffed it in her purse.

But Eddie still asked as she slid in the passenger seat and buckled in, “Hey, everything alright? Something happen at work?”

She looked embarrassed. “No.” When he left the car in park for a minute she sighed. “It- it’s nothing.”

“Iris,” he reached across for her hand. “It can’t be nothing. Please tell me, I want to be there for you.”

She laced her fingers with his and said, “One of the girls was talking about weekend plans. Her parents are taking her out to dinner for her birthday.” Eddie didn’t think he was entirely unwarranted in looking confused. “Well it made me think—it’s Barry’s birthday,” she revealed with a voice that was now shaking. “He’s twenty-five today. And I’d totally forgotten. How could I just forget? I mean I just—” She was battling furiously with her tears again.

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault,” Eddie tried his best to soothe. He hated to see the normally strong, vibrant woman so distraught. “It’s been months. It’s only natural you wouldn’t be thinking about it every minute of every day. That’s healthy, even.”

She was sniffling now, but nodded. “I know, I know. Just—could I take a rain check? I don’t think I’m the best dinner company right now.”

“Sure, babe, if that’s what you want,” he agreed. “I’ll drive you home.”

But Iris shook her head. “I really don’t feel like going out, but I don’t want to be alone, either…Would it be ok if I stayed the night at your place?”

“Of course,” he managed, more than a little stunned. Iris had been over in the past, but never for the whole night. And, much as it pained him to know just how deeply she herself must have been hurting to make that request, he couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the knowledge that she wanted and needed his comfort.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Iris smiled for him. “You’re always there for me.”

He returned it. “And I always will be.”  Eddie leaned across the space between them to kiss her softly, wiping away the remaining wetness on her cheeks with gentle thumbs. When they’d both pulled away after a long moment he could note with some pride that she at least seemed more relaxed than before she’d entered the car. Maybe even happier.

He put it into drive and steered them to his apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t be the night out they’d planned, but he was still spending a night with Iris. To Eddie, that was all that mattered. The only thing needed now was for Allen to just wake up already. Because as long as the woman he loved was happy, he was pretty confident he could handle a little competition.

 

OoO

Caitlin felt almost listless as she sat in front of one of the lab’s computers. It hadn’t been very long since they’d sent off the Mirakuru cure and already she felt that familiar creeping sense of uselessness and melancholy rising within her.

It was so much easier to ignore if she had something to do, but that wasn’t much the case anymore at S.T.A.R. labs. She ought to go and find new work, a young bright professional such as herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. It felt too much like moving on, and that was something she didn’t think she’d ever do. And so she stayed, for Ronnie.

“So,” Cisco was lounging in his own chair and unwrapping a lollipop, “not bad for S.T.A.R. labs, huh?”

She afforded him a nod. “It was nice not having it blow up in our faces for once.”

“Well _I_ think we make a pretty great team,” the engineer countered, not to be deterred.

“This team you speak of, Cisco, has been fairly busy.” They both jumped. For a man with limited mobility, Dr. Wells was fairly good at arriving unannounced. “I was glad to see you both utilizing your tremendous potential again.”

Caitlin wished she could attempt more than a tight smile at such praise. “Thank you, Dr. Wells.”

“It was really Felicity giving us a chance.” Cisco was for once modest. “I guess it was just a lucky shot that she needed our help, but what can I say? I got friends in high places.” Ok, scratch that about the modesty.

She rolled her eyes. “And how exactly did you meet someone from Starling City in the first place?” She’d been mystified after the attack at the warehouse to find out this little detail about the man, having been nearly certain that like she his social circle was rather small. Then again, Cisco was very personable, unlike her. “Did your ‘mutual friend’ introduce you?”

“Uhh, kinda,” he said with a laugh, like what she’d said was particularly funny. “Felicity was at Central City General when I was having a look around, you know? Her friend was in a coma, so I didn’t really _meet_ him.” He sucked on the lollipop for a second before his eyes lit up and he pulled it out with an audible _pop_! “Actually, struck by lightning, then in a coma. Pretty awesome way to go comatose though, right?” The grin abruptly dropped off his face as he seemed to consider his words. “The comatose part’s not so awesome, though.”

Before Caitlin could even go into why, no Cisco, it was not awesome and actually _horrible_ , however, Dr. Wells interjected in a light yet overly calm tone, “Cisco…what was his name?”

The engineer looked momentarily bewildered by the question and she thought back to the few words he had exchanged with the blonde woman. “Barry something, right? You asked her how Barry was doing.”

Cisco snapped and pointed to her, like she’d devised the cure for the common cold. “Yeah, that’s it! Barry Allen.”

“And when was he struck by lightning?” Dr. Wells continued his questioning, and Caitlin could hearing a certain edge in her boss’ voice, the kind that made her uneasy.

The other man seemed to be thinking back for his answer though, and calmly replied, “Oh, she said he’d been there for two weeks when we met so I guess…right around the particle accelerator explosion.” The last part was muttered, but Dr. Wells clearly heard.

“Perhaps the very night of the explosion during the storm that caused it?”

“Uh—” Cisco exchanged a nervous look with her before managing, “Yeah, I- I guess so. She didn’t mention it, though. Why?”

The wheelchair bound man looked down and seemed to be thinking of the right words. They waited in absolute silence. Finally he looked up, removing his glasses with his gaze zeroed in on the engineer. “Cisco, when we talked about you looking for individuals who may have been affected by the particle accelerator, that is _exactly_ the person—the kind of person—I was talking about.”

“…oh.”

Dr. Wells smiled at that, but it was not at all warm. “‘Oh’ is right. Well then, Mr. Ramon, how is Ms. Felicity Smoak’s friend Barry Allen doing?”

“I- I don’t know. She didn’t know,” he added defensively, going to work on his computer. “She said he’d been transferred somewhere—which I will get right to work on locating.”

“I think you’d better.” Dr. Wells toggled the switch on the wheelchair’s arm to turn it around, but as he started from the room, Caitlin couldn’t help asking the question now forefront on her mind.

“What exactly are we going to do if—”

“When,” the young man objected in an injured tone. She rolled her eyes.

“When Cisco finds out where he is? If he was transferred—”

“Then there is a high chance he was affected by the particle accelerator and somebody else noticed,” Dr. Wells was the one to interrupt her this time. He looked back at her over his shoulder. “And that could end very badly, particularly for Mr. Allen.”

As he wheeled away and Cisco continued to type at the keyboard, Caitlin wondered just what something they were stumbling into this time. At the least, she hoped it would keep her mind occupied.

OoO

It’d been a relatively peaceful two months, Felicity had to acknowledge. Relatively because while she was still part of a vigilante crime-fighting team that conducted its business in the basement of a club every night, at least they weren’t dealing with a Mirakuru army of super-soldiers. That nightmare had mercifully come to an end at the least.

Watching Sara enter back into the League of Assassins had been tough, especially since they’d had little choice. Without the League’s help they never would’ve been able to stop Slade’s army, and the League required payment. It didn’t make the other woman’s absence hurt any less.

Roy, however, they did have back. And back to normal now that the Mirakuru was out of his system. He was really proving his mettle out in the field and becoming a full-fledged member of the team, and she could tell Oliver was proud of him. So maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe they didn’t have everyone, but they were making some real progress in Starling.

At least more progress than she was making in her personal career, Felicity noted wryly as she quickly changed out of the Tech Village uniform it killed her to put on every day and into something she was more comfortable with. The one time she’d had to rush over from her hellscape of a job to the Arrow Cave she’d been able to tell the guys had all been various levels of amused, Roy openly smirking at her.

So her heels click-clacked down the stairs announcing her presence well in advance, not that Oliver would have probably needed it. He stopped sharpening an arrow as she approached her computers, collapsing into her chair with a sigh.

“Long day?”

“You try standing for ten hours,” she grumbled, kicking said heels off in order to then rub at her feet. “It would’ve been eight, but someone called off due to a ‘family emergency’ which I find highly suspect considering yesterday she was gushing nonstop about the tickets to the Cassidy concert her boyfriend was able to get for tonight. So because my now least favorite coworker neglected to request this Friday off two weeks ago, I was asked to stay and cover some of her hours, which I only did because they have an overtime policy.”

Oliver was looking at her at something of a loss, which she supposed was due to his complete lack of experience with the nine to five drudgery of retail work, but he did at least offer a sympathetic, “Doesn’t sound fun.”

She gave a sarcastic laugh. “Fun doesn’t begin to cover it. Let me just say I will have no guilt taking vacation days off in the future.”

He nodded, then seemed to be thinking something over, glancing just a bit to the side with his lips pursed together. “Felicity,” he started after a minute, and in turn her head tipped slightly to the side, “if you ever need time off from all of this, you just have to ask.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Oliver. But it’d feel a little weird sitting at home knowing you guys were all here and maybe needed my help. And I don’t really feel up to a trip anywhere.”

“You did in December,” he pointed out, and she stiffened in her chair. “And I appreciated you limiting your visits. We really needed you here. But if you want to go to Central to see Barry, you should.”

She could tell how much this was costing him. Oliver had a tendency to micromanage their little team in nearly all aspects of their lives if he had the opportunity, hence her former job as his personal assistant. Felicity had also been able to see how even the few visits she’d made to Starling General had grated on his nerves all those months ago, whether she’d been needed or not. But consideration for Oliver wasn’t really the reason she’d stopped going.

So Felicity sighed. “Oliver, I can’t go visit Barry.”

He blinks in confusion. “Is he out of the hospital? I hadn’t heard—”

“No, he’s just not in Central anymore. Barry’s condition…I don’t know. I guess it must have deteriorated or he needed care that the hospital couldn’t give. But the last time I visited I was told he was going to be moved.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down briefly at the ground. “I thought they were just waiting for him to wake up from the coma. How…how bad was he?”

“They were running a lot of tests. I’m not sure for what,” she replied. “But maybe something to do with his circulatory or pulmonary system, because I was able to find out for Cisco that he was transferred to the NIH’s Heart, Lung and Blood Institute in Maryland.”

“Cisco?” He echoed, clearly confused.

“Cisco from S.T.A.R. labs. He and his friend Caitlin made the Mirakuru cure for us. And he told me his boss is on him—like, on his case, not physically on him, that’d be assault in the workplace environment,” she clarified hurriedly, Oliver waiting as patiently as he could through it. “Anyway, he wanted Cisco to find out more about Barry.”

“Why?” He walked over to stand behind the chair as she turned back to the monitors again.

“He seems to think the particle accelerator might have had an effect on him so now he wants him brought back to Central, or something,” she told him.

“What kind of effect?” It occurred to her that the tone he was using with her now had turned rather sharp. Nearly the kind that he reserved for interrogation. “Have there been other cases or patients like Barry?”

“No.”

“Then how’s he so sure? Who is this guy?” Oliver practically demanded. She knew he’d seen the news reports, of course, but it’d been some time since anything relating to the explosion had been in the news.

“Dr. Harrison Wells, considered a forerunner in the sciences before the explosion?” Felicity prompted, tilting her face up to watch his blank expression. She shook her head. “Right, not your area. I don’t know how he’s so sure about Barry.”

“Then maybe you should keep looking into it.”

“For S.T.A.R. labs?” She checked, mostly rhetorical, especially when she glanced up again at the grim set to his features. “For not S.T.A.R. labs.”

“Let’s just keep this to ourselves for now,” he agreed with a nod. “Find out everything you can—what the NIH knows, and about S.T.A.R. labs and Wells.”

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. Sure, Dr. Wells had been investigated thoroughly after the explosion, but it was clear something about his interest in Barry was rubbing Oliver the wrong way. She recalled what Cisco had said about his boss wanting to make up for his mistakes and to start helping people again, all those honest intentions. But maybe she’d been in this line of work for too long, too many people with seemingly honest intentions who made Oliver’s instant suspicion start to seem like the reasonable assumption.

“I will get on that and let you know once I’ve found something.”

He afforded her a smile, confident in her abilities as ever. “Thank you, Felicity.” Then he was walking across the room to the glass cases for the suits, stopping in front of his own with an unreadable look in his eye. It took her a moment to realize what precisely his gaze was zeroed in on—the mask.

It hit her then that there was someone else they’d been missing from their team for a long time. With even more determination behind her, Felicity pulled up a new browser and got to work.

OoO

It was an early evening that found Joe home alone while off-duty. Iris was out, as she had been more often as of late—making him suspect there might be a man in the mix—and he hoped that that was a good sign. She’d been awfully closed off the past months and had taken to hanging around the precinct regularly. The detective didn’t mind seeing his daughter more often, but he knew it wasn’t the best for her. All the same, this had been a tough few months—going on a year soon enough, if he was being particularly depressing—for both of them.

That was why he was surprised when someone knocked on the door. He was even more shocked upon answering it to see a familiar-looking man sat in a wheelchair.

“Good evening, Detective West, I was hoping to find you in. There’s something I wished to discuss with you of rather great importance. If you would be so kind?” He gestured into the house.

Joe moved aside, but his eyes tracked the other as he replied, “Of course, doctor. Wells, isn’t it? Of S.T.A.R. labs.” The failed scientist had wheeled into the front hall, looked back, and nodded. Joe moved around and led the other to the living room, where he sat in one of the arm chairs. They faced each other on even level for a moment before he asked, “So what exactly does someone like you have to discuss with me?”

Wells raised a hand, possibly to forestall any further aspersions. “Please, Detective West. I understand I am fairly unpopular, you could say, in Central City, but I wouldn’t be here right now if this weren’t so urgent. I need to talk to you,” he repeated, leaning forward in his chair, “about Barry Allen.”

Joe felt as if the words had been a punch to his gut. _Nobody_ talked to him about Barry anymore. Even Iris barely did. It was just a universally acknowledged taboo, an unmentionable, something that Joe West did not talk about because that was just the easiest way to handle it all. To try and handle it. But here this man was to knock that all down because—

“Why?” He asked hoarsely.

“Because there are things about Barry Allen that right now you don’t understand. That nobody understands. That’s what they told you, isn’t it, the doctors and nurses. What exactly was it that tipped them off he was so—”

“Unusual?” He supplied, almost wonderingly because how could he possibly know?

But Harrison Wells gave a single shake of his head. “Extraordinary.”

Joe licked his lips that were suddenly dry. “They- they thought his heart had stopped. He kept flat lining—looked like, anyway.” It was a struggle to even remember those anguishing moments. How he’d called for backup after the Mardon brothers had been sucked up in that whirlwind from nowhere and Chyre lay dying on the grass; how when backup arrived they’d told him of the accident; how he’d rushed to the hospital to find Iris crying and screaming and fighting to get to Barry, that young man as good as his own son who lay dying, too, on the operating table and— “They opened him up,” he managed.

Wells’ eyes shut briefly. “And found his heart was beating. But too fast. They were intrigued.”

He nodded. “That’s when the tests started. They said they had to find out more, needed specialists to treat him, on and on. Guess you would’ve been in on that if you’d been invited to the party,” he remarked shrewdly.

The other man’s eyes tightened. “It would’ve been in the best interest if I had. You see, nobody understands Barry’s condition—except me.” When Joe’s eyes widened, something of a smirk came to his features. “You don’t think it mere coincidence that the accident resulting in his body’s observed changes happened the same night of the explosion, do you?”

He didn’t know whether to be stunned or enraged. “You—”

“It was still an accident, Detective,” Wells countered before he could get the words out. “But, it is undeniable that the particle accelerator’s explosion had an effect on Barry, based on everything you have told me and what I have gathered. The true extent is something S.T.A.R. labs would have to study.”

It didn’t make complete sense to him, but—at last—it was an explanation, a why for how this could have happened to the young man he treasured as family. Still, Joe’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you asking me for, doctor?”

Wells was thankfully not one to beat around the bush. “I need you to transfer Barry back from the NIH and to S.T.A.R. labs. There is not a moment to lose.”

“Why? It’s been over eight months now and it’s taken you this long to come to me. What can your lab do for him that they can’t?”

“We can treat him effectively and with discretion,” was the other man’s ready reply, “which they will not. They may have started out not understanding Barry’s condition, but they will learn. They will learn what he is capable of.”

“They just told us he had unique properties, that they could improve human health with what they learned or something,” he stated, unsure what Wells was so alarmed over.

The man chuckled, though it didn’t carry much humor. “They think they’ve found the cure for cancer, and they _have_. Do you think they will keep quiet about it? No, Detective, we scientists like to brag, to publish our findings and make speeches and presentations. Barry Allen will be made a spectacle, a thing on display instead of a human being. And that’s only the best case scenario.”

He could hardly believe the words the man before him was saying, so horrific a picture did they paint, and could only latch onto something that was just barely being hinted at. “You’re talking…like he’s going to wake up.”

Wells was not hopeful or reassuring at all as he said, “And if he does while still with the NIH, you will never see him again.”

 _How dare he_? “Get out! Get out of my house!” He was on his feet and shouting before he realized it, towering over the broken man.

Wells, for his part, seemed to realize he’d gone over the line, and graciously moved to do just as he’d demanded. “Of course. My apologies, Detective.” He paused just before entering the hall to make one final plea, “If you would just think about what we’ve discussed—for Barry. Thank you.” His unexpected guest showed himself out.

Joe dropped back into his chair like a stone, feeling almost winded. Everything he’d just heard, it was fantastical, wasn’t it? How could an explosion and a lightning bolt _change_ a man, change _Barry_ , and why would that mean he’d never see him again?

It spoke to all his secret fears when he’d signed that paper. He’d signed the form and sent his kid off to strangers who were poking and prodding as Iris had said, all in the hope that he just might wake up. That he might come back to them. But what if he didn’t? Who could he trust?

If someone had given him this dilemma even a day before, a choice between the best care in the country and S.T.A.R. labs it would have been a non-issue. But now he was doubting himself. Why should getting help for his son be such a crisis? He was tired of hearing relative strangers claim they were acting in Barry or Mr. Allen’s best interest. Like they even knew him.

Yet Joe hadn’t even been able to say Barry’s name aloud even once during that entire conversation. And when Iris came home with a smile and shining eyes, he found the taboo back in place. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about it at all.

OoO

In Bethesda, Maryland, Ellie Peritz was making notations on a tablet, though she spoke aloud as she did so out of habit. More than once a colleague had suggested she make use of the dictation feature the piece of tech offered, but she’d always found it inaccurate and complicated. And right now it was only little old her in the room to hear anyway.

“Except you of course, honey,” she corrected with an indulgent smile in the direction of her current patient and subject, Barry Allen. “After all, hearing is the last of the senses to degenerate. Although speaking of a lack of degeneration—” She paused and felt the patient’s abdomen. “Muscle mass has maintained and continued to grow since the subject was admitted to the Institute.

“Heart rate is steady at its accelerated pace,” she added, an easy observation thanks to the modified monitor they now had in place. “Nutrient intake continues to be high for someone in a comatose state, although this is augmented by the high metabolism. All other vitals appear to be at normal for the subject. So that’s that out of the way, then.”

Ellie set down the tablet and wheeled a stool over to the patient’s bedside. The review had mostly been a formality. At this point, they’d gleaned most everything they could from Mr. Allen, and taken more than enough samples to continue happily working away to their heart’s content. A written study was in the works to hopefully be featured in an upcoming journal, something she couldn’t help but get a thrill out of just thinking about. And still the young man slept on.

Truthfully they hadn’t any idea what to do with him. He was long past the time when most coma patients woke up undamaged, for one. And there wasn’t much they could do to treat a coma. Rumor was that the Mental Health and the Neurological Disorders and Stroke Institutes were jockeying to have him transferred to one of their locations next.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” she remarked offhand. “You’re a real sweetheart. Place won’t be the same without you.” She heaved a sigh, somewhat theatric, and continued, “But it’s for the best. It’s been real nice knowing you, though.” She took up one of his limp hands for a moment and gave it a squeeze.

“Ellie, do you have that report ready?”

Now she sighed for real, turning to the man who’d just pushed open the door. “I’ll have it filed within the hour, Brian.”

“Ok.” He looked about to leave, but for whatever reason hesitated. “Doesn’t it get weird after a while, sitting in here with him?”

“He has a name.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Fine, well how about leaving Mr. Allen to his rest and filing the report? Some of us like to leave work at a decent hour.”

“Alright, alright, keep your shirt on,” she shot back, standing and double-checking the monitors and IV were in place. She patted the unconscious man on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, hon.” Ellie scooped up her tablet and met Brian at the door.

He shook his head. “I don’t see how you could get so attached. All he does is sleep.”

“Didn’t you know that’s all I ever wanted in a man?” She asked in mock seriousness before giving a snort. “And I’m not attached, just acclimated. Hard not to be used to someone after—how many months has it been anyway?”

“Since his coma? Nine. He must be pretty set on beating Rip Van Wrinkle’s record,” the other man quipped.

“Uh, have you heard that story, Brian? Barry’s got a _long_ way to go.”

What neither of them knew was that Barry Allen’s personal record was about to be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you'll all be excited for the next chapter and the good news is it won't be a long wait. I'll probably have it up in the next couple of days, so keep an eye out. Thanks for reading and let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I promised a new chapter in the next couple of days, and here it is! A fair bit shorter, but I think you'll all be happy to see a certain someone. Enjoy!

It didn’t feel like much, Barry Allen would always maintain. The whole span of nine months was traversed via states of asleep and awake, before the lightning and after. But if he really truly thought about that in between, he’d have described it as being held under water, heavy and dark yet not really there with no end, until suddenly for no reason at all he felt himself pulled up and up…

Barry opened his eyes. There was a very persistent beeping noise coming from somewhere. His alarm? Great, he was late again, wasn’t he? He reached out for the little device on his bedside table and came up empty. There was a tug on his arm.

It occurred to him then that he had no idea where he was.

The walls were plain and off-white and the bed, though not uncomfortable, was not his own. He’d been lying flat on his back and tucked in tight as a vacuum-press seal. Barry pushed off the mattress with his arms and kicked with his legs to get free, in the process dislodging several wires attached on patches to his chest.

The beeping now became one long, unbroken note at a particularly irritating pitch. “Ugh, wha?” His throat felt dry and his voice was groggy, like he’d gone some time without speaking.

What time was it? His watch was missing. In fact, he didn’t see anything that was his; the thin, cotton pants he wore didn’t belong to him. Barry swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering when his bare feet touched down on tiled floor. He took a step and felt the tug again. Looking down revealed an IV needle stuck in his arm. What did he need that for? He made to remove it without a second thought.

A door banged open and he jumped. “What the heck is going—woah.” A red-haired man in a lab coat drew up short, gaping in astonishment at something, behind him he guessed.

Barry turned to look. “What is it?” There was the bed and a machine that was making the drawn-out beep sound. “Did I break that?”

“Look at you,” a female voice said in awe, and he looked back to see a woman edging around the man in the doorway, also in a lab coat with her brown hair hanging just above her shoulders. She was taking slow, careful steps like somebody would when trying not to spook an animal. It was with a mounting sense of confusion that Barry realized the animal was him. “Oh _look_ at you. You’re all awake and standing and—tall. You’re a lot taller standing up than I thought. Look at him, Brian!”

“I’m looking,” the so-named Brian said.

Barry crossed his arms over his chest, more than a little self-conscious at all this looking. “Who are you? Where am I? And how’d I get here?”

The pair exchanged somewhat nervous glances. “Now Barry, honey, you need to stay calm. Maybe take a seat.” She began pushing on his shoulders as if to guide him back to the bed while Brian came forward with a penlight.

“I am calm,” Barry insisted even as he dropped back onto the mattress. “I just want you to answer my questions—and to stop that,” he added, blinking and swatting at the other man’s hand when the light shone directly in his eyes.

“Pupils are reactive,” the man noted, then shook out his hand. “As well as reflexes.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Barry,” the woman said softly, redirecting his attention again. “I’m Dr. Ellie Peritz. This is Dr. Hart. We’re with the National Institute of Health…and we’ve been treating you for almost nine months.”

Barry was glad he was sitting. “What? How—”

“You don’t remember?” Asked Dr. Hart. “That could be a troubling sign. Lapses of memory—”

“I’m sure he’s just processing the shock,” Dr. Peritz countered breezily. “You try waking up from a nine-month coma.”

He certainly felt like he was having trouble processing, though. “But I was in my lab. The news…they said the particle accelerator had gone critical. I think it exploded!” He looked urgently from one face to the other, but this didn’t appear to be news to them. “The lights went out and that’s when I noticed the water on the floor. The skylight in the loft was leaking, so I went to make sure it was shut.”

It was coming back to him now, like a blind being lifted from his eyes. “Something was weird. The chemicals sort of rose up. I saw it,” he emphasized, expecting the usual skepticism. But these two did not dispute it, instead seemingly waiting for the final piece of that night to fall into place in his mind. It did. “And the storm, the lightning—I was hit by lightning?”

Both the doctors nodded.

“How am I alive?” He asked wonderingly. “How can I even be standing?” They started as he did just that, turning this way and that to get a look at himself and getting caught up in the IV tube. He finally plucked it from his arm.

“Hey,” Dr. Hart objected, but Barry laughed.

“What’s the point of it? I got struck by lightning and I’m _fine_. I’m better than fine—I have abs!” He pressed both hands to the rather finely toned muscle in amazement. “Who wakes up with from a nine-month coma with abs?”

“No one, which is why, Mr. Allen, we shouldn’t be acting rashly,” the other man cautioned in a disapproving tone.

“I’m not acting rashly. I feel fine, so whatever you guys did must have finally worked.” The word _finally_ seemed to hit it home for him then, and his smile dropped. “Nine months…my family. My job. Oh man, everybody must be freaking out. I- I really have to go.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Hart’s tone indicated just how preposterous he found that idea. “You’ve just woken up from a coma caused by a freak accident inducing transformed biology. This isn’t something where you just discharge yourself.”

He kind of wished Dr. Peritz would jump back into the conversation; her colleague had much shorter nerves. Barry held his hands up. “So you what, need me to stay overnight for observation? Fine, I will totally do that. I just have to go see my family first.”

“You can’t—”

“I’ll come right back, I swear,” he promised, growing frustrated with the other man. Didn’t he get how important this was? He didn’t want to think how worried the Wests—his _dad_ —must have been all this time. Nine months! With this in mind, Barry moved to step around the doctor. “Please? I have to—ah!”

There was a stabbing pain in his neck and he jolted.

“Woah!” Dr. Peritz swayed dangerously on the wheeled stool she’d climbed up on while he’d been arguing with Hart and she clamped a hand down on his shoulder to steady herself, the other hand still gripping the syringe that had been stuck in his neck. “Would have preferred doing this while you were sitting.”

“No—” he tried to wrench free of her grasp, but it felt as if his strength—new abs and all—was leaving him. Barry staggered a couple steps in no particular direction, his eyes sliding closed of their own accord. But he didn’t want to sleep. Who knew how long it’d take him to wake up this time? “Can’t—my dad, my fam’ly…have to see Joe an’—”

“It’s ok, just let it take you. You’ll feel better,” a voice said, shushing him as he impacted something soft and the world flipped sideways. The world now also consisted only of an off-white ceiling and two faces hovering over him belonging to people he didn’t really know.

“Need to go…” He tried one more time, struggling to even reach out with one arm. Someone caught his hand and guided it back down.

“I know, hon.”

“Home,” Barry slurred, and the tiny, hazy world went dark.

OoO

_Dizziness, bright lights slowly coming into focus just like the dull throbbing in his neck…_

_“Please save my friend.”_

_The Vigilante lifeless on the table. **Oliver** lifeless on the table._

Barry’s eyes shot open.

Waking up the second time wasn’t much different. The beeping was beeping again and the wires were back on him. But he wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t like having to do that, you know. I hope this hasn’t ruined things between us.” Dr. Peritz was leaning forward on her stool with her chin propped on one hand, watching his eyes dart around before focusing on her.

“You said you sedated him a few minutes ago,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“Well, we did theorize that his elevated metabolism would allow him to burn through chemicals or other substances quicker.” That one was Dr. Hart.

“So,” Barry tried in a voice that was now very sleep-fogged, “when you said ‘transformed biology’ you didn’t just mean my abs.”

“Correct, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Hart answered, and if he were inclined to like the man he might have thought he sounded amused.

He wasn’t feeling very charitable towards his colleague either, and so favored her with his best bleary glare. “You drugged me.”

She shrugged. “It’s fairly common procedure for a recovered coma patient. They tend to wake up agitated for some reason. But can we count on you now to think a little more clearly?”

He considered it, but insisted in a way that might have seemed stubborn, “I still want to see Joe and Iris.”

“Who?” The new man stepped forward.

“His family, sir,” Dr. Hart muttered. Barry was confused. How could they not know who Joe and Iris were? They must have come to see him during all this at least once. Right?

It must have shown in his expression, for Dr. Peritz said, “Barry, we told you we are NIH. Well we’re part of the Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute.” He nodded to show he was following and she smiled. “Welcome to Bethesda, Maryland.”

“Maryland?” He echoed. The furthest he’d ever travelled from Central City was Starling just yesterday day—no, nine months ago. That was bizarre to think about. All that time gone by, and what all had happened? “Why?”

“Your ‘transformed biology’, as has been stated,” the new man supplied. “For reasons we’re still trying to determine, your DNA has been altered from the lightning strike, accelerating most of your biological processes, such as your metabolism, heart rate, and cellular regeneration. The affects this could have on the human body are also something we’ve been trying to study, though with limited results, due to your coma.”

It was with growing amazement that Barry took this all in. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Dr. Peritz countered with another smile. “You’re a bona fide medical miracle, honey.”

He made a face. “Do you have to call me that?”

“It’s nothing personal, she does it to everyone,” Dr. Hart informed him helpfully.

Barry took issue with this explanation however. “Oh yeah, what about you?”

“I won a bet.”

Not really wanting the details on that, he looked to the new man. “And you?”

“I’m her boss,” he answered plainly, and stuck out his hand. “Dr. John Fowle, Director of the Division of Cardiovascular Sciences.”

Barry gulped and belatedly reached to shake the proffered hand. “So I’m kind of a big deal, then? How’d you hear about me?”

“The hospital you were taken to discovered some of your anomalies and got in touch with us. Detective West agreed to let us transfer you out here.”

Joe had agreed? Well, he supposed that was a good thing, but for some reason Barry didn’t like the idea that his foster father had agreed to send him away. It didn’t sit right with him. “Joe let me be transferred from a hospital to a lab?”

“Well, not just ‘a lab’, we are a Health Institute,” Dr. Hart pointed out.

“Perhaps we don’t often work with patients like a hospital does, but you’re a special case,” Dr. Peritz added.

Barry wasn’t so sure. “Am I really that special? I don’t feel very different, mostly,” he amended, poking at his stomach.

Dr. Fowle smirked. “Mr. Allen, I’d like you to take note of the heart monitor you’re hooked up to right now.”

He looked at the machine. Nothing about it seemed much out of the ordinary, though it seemed a bit quicker than the ones he’d seen in movies or TV. “Yeah, so?”

“It’s been modified in order to measure your heart rate. Each beep counts every _fifth_ beat of your heart.” Now he stared at the machine in disbelief. There was no way. But why would they lie?

“Does that mean I have to stay for more than overnight?”

“We’d love it if you did,” Dr. Peritz replied. “You’re absolutely remarkable, Barry, and now that you’re awake there’s a lot more to be tested and researched. And to think MH and NDS were trying to get their claws in you!”

“What?”

“Speaking of tests,” Dr. Hart interjected, stepping over to the door. “That sounds like Randall with the equipment.” There was a trundling noise that was indeed growing louder by the second, and the doctor pushed the door open for a younger man pushing a cart with what looked like some instruments and other equipment.

“Wow, you’re really awake!” Randall remarked, which Dr. Hart rolled his eyes at. Barry couldn’t much blame him.

He was going to offer a greeting in return, but as the other man pushed the cart over the threshold the wheels caught on the lip of the door frame and the whole thing tipped—then seemingly slowed to almost a stop.

Barry was moving alone in real time, sitting up in shock as he watched the instruments slide off the top and fall in slow motion to the ground, the cart following after at the same pace, while the other four in the room were practically still. Their reaction time he could measure more accurately by the fanning out of Dr. Peritz’s hair and the men’s lab coats as they turned more so than by any other action. He was on his feet before Dr. Fowle and Peritz were even looking at it.

The crash of the many instruments and the bang as the cart hit the floor seemed to jolt everything else back into regular motion. Randall was apologizing and stooping to pick things up, Dr. Hart was shaking his head and crouching down to help, and Dr. Peritz was giving an exaggerated sigh.

“Barry, are you alright?” Dr. Fowle was looking at him again, his face mildly surprised. Barry glanced down to find his movement had caused the various monitors to become detached again, and the single droning beep started back up.

Everyone was now staring at him and he shuffled his feet anxiously. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I just—is there a bathroom or something I can use?” He needed some space to think, to wrap his head around _what_ had just happened.

Dr. Hart winced in sympathy and said. “Of course. Through that door to your right. The tests can wait.”

“Thanks,” he said hurriedly and then ducked into the room, resting against the closed door for a minute. Ok, so he’d been hit by lightning and now some things were different. _He_ was different. Transformed. But how could some differences to his DNA explain what he’d just seen? Maybe it was the drugs, maybe they hadn’t completely left his system like they’d said. That had to be it.

Ignoring for the moment that all his knowledge on sedatives clearly proved that idea to be false, Barry moved over to the sink and turned it on, scooping up some water to splash on his face. He needed to be fully awake and aware. He was in a strange place with strangers and he just wanted to go home. Now how to get that done as fast as possible?

He started shaking his hands out to rid them of the excess water while he looked around for a towel—but his one hand wouldn’t stop. It just kept shaking faster and faster, practically _vibrating_ before his eyes.

“Not possible,” he murmured as he examined the blurring limb with a fascination and detached panic at the thought that he wasn’t doing this.

“Barry, honey? You ok in there?”

He looked to the door, then back to his hand. None of the doctors out there had said anything about this. Should he?

“Uh, yeah,” he called back. Maybe they were strangers, but wouldn’t the doctors at Central City General have been relative strangers to him? And Joe had sent him here. Barry reached out with the hand that was acting normally for the moment and opened the door. “But I think I figured out one of those ‘affects’ you were talking about, Dr. Fowle.”

The Director looked just as stunned as the rest. Finally, he gave a slow shake of the head. “Barry Allen…I think you just did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Barry. Trusting puppy that he is, now his doctors are aware of his new abilities. We'll see what results from that. Thanks for continuing to read and support this fic, and I'd love to hear how you think it's going!

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, just getting started with the setup on this one. As usual, would love to hear any thoughts/feedback. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
